


Field Stripping the Cheerleader

by ApocalypseThen



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4491648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypseThen/pseuds/ApocalypseThen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miranda Lawson opens up to Shepard, who makes her day, while also fulfilling one of her own fantasies. As much redemptive-power-of-kink as I could pack into 1500 words. </p><p>Definitely not as pervy as the title would have you believe, however.</p><p>Written as a fill for the kink meme:<br/>http://masseffectkink.livejournal.com/9115.html?thread=43428251#t43428251</p>
            </blockquote>





	Field Stripping the Cheerleader

“I've just realised, Shepard, you're not special.”

“What? Miranda, you're drunk. I am too special.” 

“No wait, listen, you don't understand. I'm special. I'm the perfect one. You're just a ginger freak.”

“This again...”

“But I'm not better than you. You're a better leader. A better tactician. A better diplomat. A better lover.”

“Whoa, Miranda, I take it back, you're not drunk enough yet.”

“It's because I've been spoiled, Shepard. My father... and the bloody Illusive man ruined me. Built me up. Flattered me. I never had to struggle for anything. Then I saw how you inspire people. Lead them. I don't have that. People don't follow me. People don't even like me.”

“I can't imagine why that would be, Miranda,” Shepard replied, knowing that Miranda was probably too far gone to notice the sarcasm.

“Because I'm a still just a Cerberus bitch,” Miranda wailed. “I'll never get away from that. You. You have the Alliance. You have a *purpose*.”

“Saving the galaxy? But I'd be doing that anyway, Miranda, because I'm special. Right?”

“Don't be an arse, Shepard, you know what I mean. You're where you are... you're *who* you are at random, but not by chance. The Alliance has hundreds of thousands of soldiers and nurtures the best. It was inevitable that someone'd be here but not that it'd be you. Every time I pass an Alliance girl in uniform I think: that could have been Shepard. But not me. It would never have been me. Because I was *designed*.”

“Oh,” realisation finally dawning on Shepard now. “Is this why you've been wearing my jacket all evening? I thought you were coming down with a cold.”

Miranda cast her eyes down. “I think maybe I have had too much to drink.”

“Come upstairs with me Miranda, I want to show you something.” Shepard rose from the couch and headed off purposefully up the stairs to the second level. Even her walk projected only confidence and purpose, there wasn't a hint of the hip-swinging that Miranda had tried to make her trademark. Miranda followed after a moment.

Shepard led her to the bedroom. “Here,” she indicated the wardrobe. “Take your pick.”

“Shepard, you're mocking me,” Miranda protested.

“Lawson.” Shepard used her stern voice. “I'm not your therapist, I'm your friend. I can't change who we are or what we've done. So if you want to, if you *need* to, go ahead.” She grinned, and added: “I'll bet you look cute in Alliance blue.”

Miranda looked hesitant for about a second, then took off Shepard's jacket and handed it back to her. She stepped into the wardrobe and slid the door shut behind her. Shepard put on her own jacket while waiting outside. Of all the crazy shit she'd seen, this barely registered as odd. She was also pleasantly surprised that someone as uptight as Miranda would open up to her like this. Her life didn't have a lot of time left over for friendship.

The door opened and Miranda stepped out again, her normal skintight abomination replaced by Shepard's crewman uniform. She filled it out well, the cargo pants turning over the curves of her shapely behind, the jacket doing the same for her ample cleavage. Maybe a little too well. Shepard didn't know if they made a uniform size that was 'medium, with extra T&A' but that's probably what was needed here. Damn Miranda Lawson could make any outfit look obscene, Shepard thought. 

Shepard took in the view and felt a familiar stirring within her. While she'd cast an eye over Miranda the first time she'd met her, once it was clear that she wasn't into other women, Shepard had moved her sights on to other targets. But there was something about a nicely turned out marine in uniform. She stepped forward to make some fine adjustments.

“Firstly, Miranda, marines do not put one hand on their hips and stick out their butts.” Shepard took up position in front of Miranda, feet shoulder width apart, hands lightly clasped behind her back. Chin up. “This is how we do standing. If you're good, maybe I'll show you walking later.”

“Shepard...” began Miranda, before she was cut off.

“We won't have time to cover talking, marine, so I suggest you just speak when I tell you to. Understood?”

Miranda was taken aback for a moment, but composed herself and did a reasonable job of standing up straight like a soldier. “Yes, ma'am,” she replied, and she found that it felt good to say it.

Shepard placed a finger under Miranda's chin and raised it a fraction. Miranda found her pulse beating faster. She wasn't just playing dress-up. Her friend was giving her something she had yearned for in secret for a long time now. Call it... guidance. A sense of purpose. A feeling of belonging. Even if it was just for one night, for a few moments, she would remember.

“Your hair's way too long, marine, regs'll have you tie that back. Here.” Shepard found a stylus and gave it to her. Miranda knotted her hair loosely behind her head, using the stylus as an anchor.

“And we roll the sleeves up to the middle of the upper arm on the crewman uniform.” Shepard gave each of Miranda's sleeves an extra turn to get them to the right place. “On the BDUs,” and here Shepard indicated her own attire, “we go to just above the elbow.”

Shepard took a step back and gave Miranda the once over. She was reminded, just for a moment, of an old friend that had made her Alliance uniform look just as good. Of course, she was dead now. Shepard looked away, a dark expression crossing her features.

Miranda noticed and extended a comforting hand to Shepard's shoulder, and was shocked when Shepard reacted violently, throwing her arm off. “What's the ...” she began, but Shepard's eyes were gazing at her now with a burning intensity, and she faltered.

The first time she had seen the great Commander Shepard, she was meat on a slab. Then they'd worked together, become friends, she'd picked Shepard over the Illusive Man. She knew what a trustworthy, competent, inspirational person she was. But it wasn't until she'd seen Shepard in her Alliance uniform that she realised, she'd do anything for this woman. She'd follow her into hell, lay down her life. Because she wasn't just a woman, or a soldier, she was a symbol, she *was* humanity.

So when Shepard pushed her back against the wall, leaned in close so that she could feel her hot breath, so that she could count the flecks of silver in her green eyes, and spoke to her in a low voice full of menace, her response was never in doubt. “I mean to have you, Miranda, and if you don't want that, you'd better take that uniform off right now. Right now, Miranda. Decide.”

Miranda wasn't gay. But Commander Shepard constituted a sexual preference all of her own. She slowly, tentatively, hooked her hands under the front armor plates on Shepard's jacket, and pulled her in. “Commander,” she was all she said. But Shepard understood.

The heat of their first kiss threatened to drive Miranda unconscious. Exploratory, slow, Shepard wrapped herself around Miranda, cataloging the involuntary responses of her body. A brush of the lips, a flicker of the tongue, a dive into the mouth, and Shepard knew what would make Miranda jerk and struggle and squirm. 

Miranda was sweating into her uniform, heat rising within her, the jacket and pants seemed to get tighter and tighter around her. Shepard holding her up against the wall, inescapable, irrepressible, unzipped her fly and wriggled a hand down her pants. Pulling away slightly to better manipulate Miranda's sex, Shepard kept her head close in, alternating steamy contact of lips on lips and fighting talk. “Miranda. Marine. You'll come for me. You'll come so hard.”

And Miranda found that if she replied “Yes, ma'am” Shepard would squeeze one way, but if she gasped “Commander”, it would be another.

“Call me skipper, marine,” Shepard whispered into her ear. “Call me skipper and I'll blow your fucking mind.”

And Miranda, even through the haze of lust that fogged her mind, knew better than to follow that order too quickly, but when she finally did, nearly begging, “Skipper... please...”, and Shepard's fingers played their final tune over her sex she had a vision. She was being stripped down, taken apart and reassembled, made fresh and whole again, a better, cleaner version of herself, and she saw that this new person was someone that she actually liked.

She collapsed in Shepard's arms, physically spent, spiritually refreshed, and determined to give as good as she had just got.


End file.
